Chrysanthemum Promise
by DidosLament
Summary: Friends always keep their promises. Only best friends will promise to kill you. ChadIchigo BFF, presumed IshidaOrihime. Spoilers abound.


_Before the white chrysanthemum_

_the scissors hesitate_

_a moment._

_Taniguchi Buson (1716-1784)_

Chad remembers.

Most of his classmates, even the ones with whom he had crossed worlds, would not think Sado Yasutora had ever paid much attention in school. He had graduated on schedule with decent, but not stunning, grades. Obviously there was a capable intellect behind all the strength and silence, one that belied his disengagement. Despite the countless hours he spent gazing out the window, he was almost always listening.

He spent the warm, moist days of summer listening to the laughter of his friends, free for this moment in between. Listening to Ichigo and Rukia rail at each other, to Tatsuki's aloof commentary, to Inoue's good-natured attempts at matchmaking, to Ishida's gentle moderation of her enthusiasms, all accompanied by the white noise of Mizuiro, Keigo, Chizuru, and the others.

Before, there were monsters and tests and traitors and problem sets and training grounds and gateways and a thousand rushed moments.

After, there would be more of the same, but different…

But _now_ there was sand, water, and sky, and ice-cream and bonfires and the dizzy almost-too-hot feeling of a nap under the summer sun.

Until one day the air shifted; a new season clicked into place. The afternoon sun was still warm, but one needed a blanket on their bed at night, the breeze was cool.

And when the first chrysanthemum began to bloom, its small tendrils of white unfolding, Chad remembered.

It had been a day not so different from this one, a little further into fall, the air crisper and the leaves already turning. It was their orange and gold he'd been watching that day, while he listened to the teacher lecture on the story they had all read for their Japanese literature class. It was not too long after the shinigami had arrived in the real world and turned their lives upside down… again.

In the same season, three years later, the story resonated. Since the Winter War, autumn had always been a season of unease.

Takeda-sensei had been telling them about the story, her favorite, because certainly there was nothing else to recommend it for their class. It was not a very well-known tale, and although the Japanese was not so archaic that it required a translation (like the excerpts from the Tale of Genji they'd been drug through), the students struggled with the language…

"'_Tales of Moonlight and Rain' was written in the late Edo period by a man named Ueda Akinari. It was set, however, in the earlier Warring States period, which makes Ueda's approach a bit nostalgic or retro. Kind of like those clothes Kurosaki-kun's cousin showed up in."_

_There was giggling and there were two boys who turned red._

"_Anyway, in this particular story two samurai become fast friends and pledge themselves as blood brothers. For samurai this was very serious… Chad? Are you paying attention?" _

"_Aa."_

"_Alright. Well, being blood brothers meant they pledged their lives to each other…_

"Remember our promise, Chad?" Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, craning his head up to look his friend in the eye.

How could he not? The silence was answer enough.

"_Fight for me and I will fight for you. If it's something you would risk your life to protect, then I will too… It's a promise."_

"_Aa."_

_Ichigo winked, lying on his back, chest still heaving from the exertion of bloodying up five punks at once._

"Stupid question, I guess."

"Aa."

Ichigo chuckled awkwardly. "Mr. Hat-and-Clogs wants us at the shop at nine a.m. tomorrow."

"Are you sure, Ichigo?"

"Yes. I can't do this without you."

Chad laid awake all that night and thought about Ueda's story.

"_They lived far away from each other, each serving a different lord. One wrote to the other saying no matter what, he would visit when the chrysanthemums were in bloom. The other said he'd wait for his arrival. But before the first one could set out on the journey, he got mixed up in some trouble in his domain, was put under confinement, and wasn't allowed to go out or send a letter."_

"Please don't cry Orihime," Ichigo pleaded. "It's not like I won't keep in touch, just, please, don't cry. That's why they have hell butterflies. I thought you liked them. You said they were cute…" He was never very good at dealing with girls, especially not ones that were crying.

He'd already said goodbye to his family. Yuzu and Karin were probably still wiping their idiot father's nose and listening to him wail about his "noble son." Now if he could just get Orihime to pull it together. He couldn't very well leave this earth to become a full-time shinigami with her head buried in his chest, small hands fisted in his shirt. Running out of words, he looked at Ishida imploringly. The Quincy always seemed to know how to calm her. He mouthed something that might have been "Help me, please." Ichigo was approaching desperation.

A pale, firm hand on Inoue's shoulder seemed to pause her tears. "I'm sure we haven't seen the last of Kurosaki," Ishida murmured. The soft voice and gentle grip were for Inoue – the glint in his eye was for Ichigo alone. _Come back, or I will be forced to hunt you down myself._

"I'll come visit!" he added, hoping to stop the tears altogether.

"When?" Orihime sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

"Well, uhm…" he hemmed, "The offer of a ranked seat in the Court Guard is conditional. It'll take some time for me to get processed, and then I have to complete a crash course at old-man Yamamoto's academy… It will probably be a year before I get any real break…"

Ishida's glare spoke for him, _"Definitely not helping, Kurosaki…"_

"I'll be back next fall. I promise."

His words reminded Chad. The promise and the season. The order, the details weren't quite right, but the important words were the same.

"_Finally summer is over and fall is upon them, the season when the chrysanthemums blossom. At this rate he won't be able to fulfill his promise to his friend. To a samurai, nothing's more important than a promise. Honor's more important than your life."_

"Help me protect them," he asked Chad quietly. "I can protect everyone better this way. I need you to help me do this."

"No other way?"

"Urahara-san says this is it. The only way it'll be for real."

"Let someone else-"

"I want you to do it."

"Ichigo-"

"You promised."

The demand, the unflinching determination in Ichigo's eyes was familiar – from that day under the bridge, by the river. And it was a feeling he knew from the inside. It was that kind of devotion that had pushed Chad past all his limits. It was the same look he'd worn in his eye as he'd laid his life down to protect the things Ichigo loved, the people he'd sworn to protect. Because he had promised.

"Aa."

"And I promise I'll get stronger. And I'll return."

"_So this samurai commits hara-kiri, becomes a spirit, and races across the miles to visit his friend. They sit near the chrysanthemums and talk to their hearts' content, and then the spirit vanishes from the face of the earth. It's a beautiful tale."_

And then suddenly Ichigo was the one in need of reassurance. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd traveled to Soul Society, and he knew that Rukia and Renji were waiting for him on the other side. And he knew he could always come back. But somehow this trip seemed more… final.

Urahara sauntered out from his study, asking in a lazy drawl who was going to "do the honors?" The plain-looking katana in his hand somehow seemed more ominous than all the countless zanpakutoh, in all their forms of release, that Ichigo had ever seen.

"Don't look so pale, Kurosaki-kun," Urahara cooed, "this asauchi is quite efficient and more powerful than a simple sword. It will be quick, and rest assured that we will deal appropriately with your mortal coil." One couldn't fail to notice that he hadn't said anything about it not _hurting_.

Ichigo paled a little further. Inoue looked faint. Ishida might have smirked.

"How?" Chad asked.

"Thrust right here," Urahara pointed to Ichigo's chest, on the left side of his heart. "It's a vital life-energy point, but will leave the spirit-energy unaffected. Can't have him impotent when he reaches Soul Society."

Ichigo gurgled. Inoue giggled. Ishida definitely smirked.

Then Chad accepted the asauchi from Urahara, and suddenly nothing was funny anymore.

"Wait a moment, though. Let's go to the basement first. I don't want to be cleaning blood stains out of the tatami."

If Tessai were not there to restrain Ichigo, Urahara would have found himself on his way _back_ to the afterlife.

"_But he had to die in order to become a spirit." As usual, Renji had not bothered to raise his hand. When he troubled himself to participate, it was on his own terms- it was not a question, but a statement. Ichigo's brow furrowed._

Ichigo's face looked oddly un-troubled. Almost peaceful. He knelt on the dirt of the training ground. The tip of the sword rested on his chest. Chad's grip on the hilt was firm.

Their friends and fellow travelers looked on from a few paces away. Ishida's arm rested lightly around Inoue's shoulders.

Chad and Ichigo looked only to each other. They had both left bits of themselves in this place. Now Ichigo was to leave everything.

Chad hesitated

a moment.

Ichigo reached up, placed his hands over his friend's. He smiled, and winked.

"See you in the fall."

Chad pushed. Ichigo pulled.

"_Yes, that's right, Abarai-kun," Takeda-sensei said. "It would appear that people can't become living spirits out of honor or love or friendship. To do that they have to die."_

The funeral took place two days later. If a few of Ichigo's friends and family seemed less distressed than they should have been, people attributed it to the shock. Such a young, healthy boy, gone so suddenly.

Rukia and Renji came to pay their respects and managed to hide their amusement with the situation. Orihime's glassy eyes, full of unshed tears, helped with that, but she took heart in their reassurances that Ichigo was fine and adapting well. It was a bit like having to learn to walk all over again, they said. It would take time, was all.

To Chad they simply said, "thank you," and bowed low.

When Orihime wondered aloud, a few days later, what Kurosaki-kun was now, if he'd already been a shinigami before he died – did that make him a super-shinigami now? – both she and Ishida were surprised when it was Chad who answered.

"He's a living spirit."

"A what?" Inoue put her finger to her lips, puzzled.

"Nothing."

Years later, when his friends and family remembered Ichigo – even those that still saw him from time to time – they used words like honor and friendship and love.

Every fall, Chad laid a white chrysanthemum on his grave.

_Fin_

Author's Note: Chrysanthemums bloom in late summer or early fall and the white variety are associated with death in a variety of places, including Japan. It's also commonly served as a tea. In addition, the chrysanthemum is also linked to the Japanese Emperor as a symbol of his power, i.e. the Chrysanthemum Throne.

Taniguchi Buson was a first-rank haiku poet. It was common practice to compose death haiku, and the above epigram is his.

The description Takeda-sensei gives of _Tales of Moonlight and Rain_ is excerpted from Haruki Murakami's _Kafka on the Shore_.

Bleach and the characters therein belong to Kubo Tite.

Reviews are much appreciated. If you hated it, blame the codine in my chough syrup. Blame this on the cough syrup too…

_Omake_

Ichigo: is dead

Urahara: pokes him with toe "Yup, it worked. That sword? Best invention, ever."

Inoue: sniffles "Why'd we have to do it this way, it's so –"

Ishida: "messy."


End file.
